


The Myth of Dandelion and The White Wolf

by MessengerGabriel



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically all the Greek Gods, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Demigods, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, General Witcher Violence, Immortality, Implied Sexual Content, Jaskier's body is a temple, M/M, Magic, Mentions Hera being a dick, Mentions Zeus being a dick, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mythology - Freeform, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Romance, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessengerGabriel/pseuds/MessengerGabriel
Summary: The Demigod was born to the old world as a son of a poor beauty who caught the eye of Zeus, god of the Skies, ruler of Olympus, and unfortunately for his mother, married to Hera, goddess of Marriage and Motherhood.The old gods are petty, and selfish.  What does it matter to them the lives of mortals?In the end it matters quite a bit.  But we are not yet there.Jaskier, as he calls himself this time, in this life, meets Geralt as he always does.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	The Myth of Dandelion and The White Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have minor (very minor) descriptions of torture, death, and sex. The explicit/violence tag is there as a precaution, be ready for typical Witcher violence and Greek myth violence. I hope you enjoy the idea that wouldn't leave me alone.

The First Myth

Jaskier wasn’t born Jaskier, though if asked what his name had been he wouldn’t be able to say. Immortality has the unfortunate ability to affect the memory, or maybe Jaskier just didn’t want to remember his old name, his old self. 

The Demigod was born to the old world as a son of a poor beauty who caught the eye of Zeus, god of the Skies, ruler of Olympus, and (unfortunately for his mother) married to Hera, goddess of Marriage and Motherhood. But Jaskier’s mother was one of the lucky ones, living peacefully in hiding with her son until the Demigod was a man of sixteen summers past; she died that winter from a convenient illness that didn’t affect any other in the village. He spent the next years learning the spear, the bow, and daggers, completely unaware of his status as a demigod.

When Jaskier reached the ripe age of twenty summers he found himself courting a wonderful girl whose laughter was like the ringing of bells and hair that shone like the sun. But it was not to be, she left Jaskier for a baker who could provide for her. Heartbroken, the Demigod seduced a wife away from her husband, unknowingly mimicking his Father with his actions. Chased out of town by the jealous husband, Jaskier travelled to the next town, repeating this new behavior, from courting to heartbreak to seduction to being chased away. From then on the Demigod finds himself going from one misery to another, never finding peace no matter where he traveled. 

Hera after all does not forgive, and she does not forget. Since she can do nothing against her husband Hera torments his offspring. Misery is misery after all, and Zeus does not care enough to stop her. Many demigods do not live long, Zeus’s discarded “loves” die young if they’re lucky, and are cursed to misery if they aren’t. The old gods are petty, and selfish. What does it matter to them, the lives of mortals?

In the end it matters quite a bit. But we are not yet there.

His latest disaster had him chained to a cliff during a raging lightning storm, accused of sedition and treason by a nearby cuckolded king, and sentenced to death. Hera found herself watching her husband’s spawn as his torture was continued, whips tearing his back, knives driven through his thighs, hair cut forcefully from his head. Jaskier had always been a kind soul, but this torment broke him; his voice usually so clear and sweet gone from the force of his screams. His blue eyes that changed with the color of the skies reflected his despair to the raging heavens. 

The Demigod screamed one last time to the skies, and as the sound began to taper off a bolt of lightning hit his body. Lightning arced across his arms and chest, eyes glowing with the blue energy, the chains broke, and Jaksier grasped a spear from the Lightning. 

“Praise be Father Zeus!” He cried. 

If this was a kind legend that would be where the story ended. But this was not a kind legend. 

He wielded his Lightning clumsily at first against the foes that followed him now, but pain was a good teacher and soon he could control his Father's element just as elegantly as he handled a spear. His travels became more like hunts as he faced many a monster. Years passed, scars were gained but signs of age were not, and he found himself wondering when he would finally be able to rest. He prayed to his Father and Apollo for guidance, he prayed to Hades and Perspheone that his death be quick, and he prayed to Ares to keep his blades sharp until his end. But no death came. 

No death will ever come. 

Hera did not forget. 

Hera did not forgive. 

And if a Demigod did not die then a Demigod can never join their parent on Olympus. Hera would not lose again. Not like she had with Hercules, who ascended to his Father’s side. Not again. 

So this Demigod did not die. 

Life went on and the world began to forget about the Old Gods.

But the Demigod didn’t.

So he maintained little travel temples for all his old gods. Belief sustained them. Even one person can keep them alive.

And now none of the old gods could risk this mortal dying. So death never comes for him, this Dandelion growing through the stones that paved the road of life. Pain was common now for Dandelion; just because one cannot fully die did not mean he felt nothing. He was more now, but not always enough. His first burial lasted almost years before he could dig his way out. An arrow through his brain had Dandelion waking months later when the wood rotted away. And life went on.

Dandelion heard his gods now. He was never alone. They argued and raged, singing over each other, conversations changing and flowing faster than he could keep up with. This must be the madness of prophets who saw too much. This must be the madness of those who met the maenads and could not run. This must be the madness of those so alone that it drove them off the cliff. 

Perhaps Dandelion was mad. 

Dandelion got used to being the one well of belief for his gods. He learned how to sustain them. How to sustain himself. How to respond to their voices, how to pray aloud constantly without drawing attention. He always did like to talk. Even if nobody was listening. (Gods want tribute, belief, and attention. One man is all they have now. They must keep him believing. So they won’t stop speaking, screaming to Dandelion.)

The Gods and their one believer learned to compromise with each other. Each lifetime was spent dedicated to one god as their patron. The others had to wait for their next turn. It didn’t mean they went away, it just meant they didn’t make Dandelion’s brain bleed from their presence. Maybe some of the madness left him. 

So Dandelion watched the world change. 

Mages gained more ground, learning new magic and how to harness it to their will. 

New races came to be as new gods were born.

Monsters were birthed into the world and populated it as any living creature must.

Humanity was hunted as more creatures were born, as curses made new monsters, and mad Mages released new horrors. 

And then the Witchers were made. The new monsters to hunt the old. Monsters who do not feel (so they say). 

And then the Age of the Witchers began to die. There were so few now, and the legends were forgotten and humanity grew fearful of their once-protectors - almost as fearful as they were of the monsters they paid the Witchers to kill.

A new age was dawning, and Dandelion became someone new. 

He was a thief and spy once, a healer once, one time all he did was travel across the land trying to find the best wine.

His (sometimes reluctant) gods kept him alive and he kept living.

And if, in this life, the music called more to him than the sea, then perhaps the Bard Jaskier was meant to be.

And if Apollo, his patron for this life also happened to be the god of prophecy...well, no one could argue that Geralt of Rivia wasn’t steeped in Destiny. 

Jaskier, as he called himself this time, in this life, met Geralt as he always was supposed to.

He’s new to music and so he could feel Apollo laughing at him as he attempted to sing for this tavern. It was still early in this life. Oxenfurt was challenging but necessary, nobody would take him seriously without some kind of education in the liberal arts. Some of the lessons were remarkably similar to the education he received in his life as a spy - he wasn’t totally starting from scratch.

The Witcher in the corner definitely drew Apollo’s attention. Prophecy always was his most annoying interest. But one could not simply say no to Fate, especially one who was the fruit of Gods such as Jaskier. 

So Jaskier picked up his lute and the bread and tried to be charming as he perpetuated a one-sided conversation with a glaring wall.

But Geralt was interesting. Terribly interesting. The kind of interesting that might have made Athena or Ares turn their heads. Apollo certainly seemed smitten.

And thus, Jaskier follows Geralt onto the Path, knowing that eventually Geralt will die. But this life was for a traveling Bard. And a traveling Bard needs a Muse. If it pleased Apollo enough that Jaskier got a little bit better on the lute that day then that’s between him and his Gods.

(Geralt doesn’t like Jaskier. He smells weird, he acts like an insane person who never shuts up, he won’t go the FUCK AWAY, and now he complains about everything!)

Jaskier knew Geralt wasn’t exactly fond of him at first. But if there was one thing he inherited from his Father it was pure stubbornness. And this child of prophecy was going nowhere without him. Jaskier was thankfully never a child of prophecy or fate, but there is no such thing as a demigod without a life of suffering. And Hera certainly made him suffer before she needed him to live.

So every day Jaskier followed Geralt the White Wolf, praying in the moments before dawn and singing during the day; the only moment Jaskier was silent was when he had just fallen asleep. Always moving, he complained about the walk but it never sounded genuine to Geralt’s ears, he danced behind Roach and picked flowers but somehow never got left behind. Jaskier was nothing like a human Bard under any kind of competent scrutiny, but Geralt’s medallion didn’t hum or burn. 

After a while Geralt found himself tolerating the Bard on his Path. Jaskier foraged edible plants and fruits for meals when they were not in a village. He sang Geralt’s praises...and after every hunt, if that village had listened, Geralt got more coin tossed his way. Jaskier bathed him after every hunt, to Geralt’s consternation, never waiting for permission, the annoying songbird soaping up Geralt’s back and hair. Running clever fingers between the silver strands and, as always, humming or singing or talking. Jaskier, Geralt finds, was a being of sound and movement, but somehow Geralt came to like it. 

And that is the moment the Myth of Dandelion and The White Wolf really begins.


End file.
